


Where Everybody Knows Your Name

by Lady_in_Red



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Blind Date, Canon Compliant, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Post-Canon, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: Ginny waits for her blind date in Mike and Evelyn's new restaurant.Sequel to Two Truths and a Lie





	Where Everybody Knows Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a standalone but makes more sense if you've read [Two Truths and a Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365636).

Ginny shouldn’t have worn this dress. Every time her Uber stopped at a red light, her skirt managed to inch up, exposing far too much thigh. It looked like she was trying too hard, especially with the heels and the lipstick. But Evelyn insisted she not wear anything with a Nike logo or lycra involved. 

It was totally a fix-up, and not the first time Ev had tried this. She needed a new project now that her restaurant was up and running. With Ginny back in town, Evelyn suddenly wouldn’t stop hassling her about her love life, or the lack of it. 

Evelyn swore they weren’t fix-ups. She just happened to invite these guys to the restaurant the same nights she asked Ginny to be there. To get the word out, not to ambush Ginny with random men. As if the write-up in the Union-Tribune, the star power of the owners, and the enthusiastic word of mouth didn’t keep the Home Plate brewpub busy all week.

When her Uber pulled up to the restaurant, the front entrance patio was full of groups waiting for a table, so Ginny asked her driver to pull around to the staff entrance. The one time she hadn’t done that, it took 20 minutes just to get inside, and she was seeing flash spots in her eyes for at least 10 minutes. The kitchen staff mostly ignored her except one guy who complimented her on striking out Buster Posey yesterday. A quick peek through the kitchen door didn’t reveal anyone waiting for her, so Ginny slipped out and took a seat at the far end of the bar, out of sight of most of the tables, where she could still see the front door and the hostess stand. 

She really liked the vibe Ev had created. Baseball memorabilia lined the walls. Conversation buzzed around her, but no one approached her, so Ginny turned her attention to the TV above her, where the Astros were thumping the Red Sox. Verlander was annoyingly good tonight. 

Movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. A beer sliding across the bar in front of her. “Oh, I didn’t order—” Ginny stopped when she saw who was behind the bar. “Hi.”

“Baker,” Mike answered with a smile. “Keep the beer. Evelyn’s not here yet.” 

For a second she considered telling him she wasn’t here just for Ev, but that might open a whole can of worms she wasn’t ready to deal with yet. Mike hadn’t been here during her earlier dates. “What’re you doing hiding back here? I thought you liked to be out front with your adoring public.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “The public’s been a little too adoring lately. I need this place to succeed, but too many times women ask for a photo and grab my ass while they’re at it. Not that I blame them, but I figured I’d keep the bar between them and me for awhile.” 

Normally, she’d give him shit about that comment, but he looked fantastic, dark jeans hugging his thighs and a crisp blue button-down rolled up over his forearms. Ginny teased him instead. “Ooh, Mike Lawson can’t handle some handsy fans? Tell me there’s video.”

Mike tried to glare but failed. “There better not be video. I felt like a piece of meat.”

Ginny snorted. “Get used to it, Lawson. When the front office throws events for the suite owners, I put up with a lot of ‘accidental’ groping.” 

Mike actually growled at that, his expression thunderous. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

She shrugged. “Because you would’ve made that face.” 

“Bring me with you next time. I’ll keep their damn hands off you.” He looked so pissed it almost made her laugh again, but the reminder that he needed an invitation to attend jarred her. Mike had been retired 7 months and she still expected to see him in the clubhouse, in the gym, at home plate. She still turned to tell him things in the dugout, made jokes only he understood. 

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Spill a few drinks on expensive suits, and they tend to stay away from you.” Ginny had a lot of strategies for avoiding men who thought she owed them something.

“Smart,” Mike acknowledged. “You going to drink that?” 

Ginny had completely forgotten the beer in front of her. And for a moment, the guy she was waiting for. A drink or two might be necessary to get through the evening. “Sure.” 

Mike watched while she raised the pint glass to her lips. He was on the very short list of men she’d accept a drink from, but he had a bad habit of using his former teammates as guinea pigs to taste the experiments their brewmaster cooked up in the basement. It smelled strangely familiar. 

Ginny took a cautious sip. This was spring in a pint glass, standing on the mound in March in Arizona, orange blossoms heavy in the sun-warmed air. “Where did you get this?” 

Mike grinned. “I have my sources.”

“But why? I thought you hated it.” Last season, he’d made fun of her for liking “flower beer,” brewed with orange blossoms and vanilla. A small brewery near the Angels training facility made it, and she’d never found it outside of Arizona. 

His grin faded a little. “Had a lot of time on my hands last fall. Nothing better to do but bum around bars and brewpubs and see what people were drinking. Made some friends among the local brewers, worked out deals to bring their beers here.”

Mike rarely talked about his time at the Mayo Clinic in Arizona, unless he was joking about being bionic. She hadn’t realized he was already working on the plans for Home Plate even then. Mike and Evelyn had taken them all by surprise when the two announced their partnership around Christmas. “So you didn’t really need time to think, you really needed time to drink.” It was supposed to be a joke, but as the words left her mouth Ginny knew she’d let some of her hurt show. 

Mike’s jaw tensed. “Yeah, well, maybe some of us need a beer or two to get through deciding if the rest of our life will include more than filming car commercials and shilling for Aspercreme with Shaq.” He glanced down the bar and spotted a customer. “Excuse me.”

Ginny gulped her beer and checked the front of the restaurant again. She just kept putting her foot in her mouth when she talked to Mike. Ginny still cringed thinking about the voicemail she’d left him after his last game. 

Lawson wasn’t even catching that day in Pittsburgh, just chasing down a bunt from first base, but his knee blew out anyway. While she sat at the back of the team bus telling his voicemail that he was going to be fine and she needed him to come back, Lawson was at the hospital being told he needed a total knee replacement and would never play again. The next time they’d spoken, Mike had been tired and grouchy from refusing pain medication, and he’d snapped at her that he needed some space. 

So Ginny had given it to him. Months and miles of space.

The Padres had missed the playoffs, and Mike had spent the entire fall in Scottsdale, having first one knee and then the other rebuilt. He’d lost more weight, the bulk that gave him power as a hitter and stability as a catcher. And he’d shaved the beard down to stubble, tired of being recognized and pitied by other patients and their visitors. Lawson might not want to talk about Arizona, but Ginny remembered it every time she saw his face. 

He set a pint of dark beer in front of his customer and started back toward Ginny, but a woman came up to the bar and caught his attention. She was wearing a strappy sundress and red lipstick, and whatever she said to Mike must’ve been funny, because he laughed. 

Ginny could only catch a few words of their conversation. The customer knew nothing about beer, needed his expert opinion.  _ Please, be a little more obvious. _ Touching his arm, giggling, playing dumb, any minute now she’d—yep, there it was, leaning forward until she gave him a wide-open view down her cleavage. Ginny turned away, back to the beer that no longer tasted as good and back to Verlander, except while she’d been talking to Mike the Astros had subbed in a lefty. Great.

Ginny pulled out her phone. Evelyn and her mystery man were 20 minutes late. Usually by now Ev would have breezed in, pretended she’d double-booked herself and insisted they chat with each other while she took care of business. And then she’d leave them alone with the awkwardness. 

_ Where are you???? _

Three dots. Ginny waited, drumming her nails on the bar. This better be good. 

_ Soccer game went OT. Have Mike get you a beer. _

Great. And Ginny couldn’t ask where the guy was. Evelyn would deny there even was one. Maybe he was here, just hanging back waiting for Evelyn. She glanced over each shoulder, trying not to be too obvious. 

“You looking for someone?” 

_ Damn it. _ Ginny turned back, smiled at Mike, who was frowning. “Evelyn’s running late. She said you should feed me.”

Mike raised one eyebrow. “Evelyn said that.”

“Yep.” Ginny popped the “p” just to annoy him.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Finish your beer. I’ve got a few more you can try.”

“You trying to get me drunk, Lawson?”

Mike shook his head. “And damage your brand? I wouldn’t dare.” He was grinning as he turned and headed for the kitchen door. 

“Don’t forget the fries,” she called after him. Ginny really missed his irritating little quirks. And, if she was being honest, she missed watching him walk away. There might be a little less to ogle these days, but the man had a fine ass. She just had to stop looking at it, had to stop comparing every guy to Lawson. He was a 38-year-old ex-ballplayer with scarred-up knees and an ex-wife Ginny still had to deal with professionally. Objectively she could do better. Simpler, at least. 

Another bartender emerged from the kitchen and started filling orders from the servers. Ginny played with her phone, checked scores, read through and tweaked the next day’s social media posts from Elliot. She took a selfie with a little girl whose parents apologized for interrupting her evening. 

35 minutes late. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Evelyn wasn’t setting her up tonight. Or maybe the guy just wasn’t coming. That hadn’t happened since ... well, ever. 

So did that make her the lonely loser waiting all night at the bar? Ginny almost regretted letting Mike bring her some food, but she really was getting hungry. She’d been up since six, getting in a run on the beach before heading to the ballpark for gym time, a pitching staff meeting, a check-in with physical therapy, watching game film, and then hanging in the bullpen during the game. 

Ginny’s phone buzzed.

_ Sorry! Not going to make it.  _ A string of apologetic emojis followed.

Well, that probably meant the guy wasn’t coming either. Unless he really was here somewhere. Ginny looked around as she finished her beer, trying not to be too obvious. Some of the same men were in the restaurant, but none of them were alone. He must’ve canceled, and Ev just couldn’t face her.

“Are you sure you’re not looking for someone?”

Ginny whipped back around, her cheeks hot. “Nope. Ev just texted. She’s not coming.” The lie came easy. The truth was too embarrassing, and too awkward to share with Mike Lawson of all people. Ginny had never met Michael B. Jordan and Mike never seemed to date anyone, but they’d never had the talk he’d promised her after he retired. So here she was, suffering through Evelyn’s blind dates and cursing the infuriating man standing in front of her.

Mike smiled. “Then you don’t have to sit out here. Follow me.” 

She stood up without thinking, conditioned to follow his lead, then stopped abruptly. “Are you going to feed me?” 

“Yes, rookie, I will feed you. I know your gremlin tendencies.” 

“Pretty sure they turn green if you feed them, not if you don’t,” she reminded him, but Mike just shrugged and kept going. She followed along the bar as he walked past the other bartender, a brunette in her thirties wearing a Sanders jersey. 

Mike leaned in close to the bartender and said something too quietly for Ginny to hear. She laughed and nodded. Ginny hated her just a little bit in that moment. He had to stop and talk briefly to customers at two tables while she hung back awkwardly, trying not to attract too much attention. 

By the time they reached the restaurant’s private party room, Ginny was starving and annoyed. As if being stood up wasn’t enough, she had to watch Mike flirt with his staff and his customers. He was good at it, and he seemed happy. He smiled a lot more now than in his last months with the Padres. That was good. It really was. 

It was all good. For Mike. She should be happy for him. And she was. Sort of. Sometimes. When she wasn’t missing him, which was, well, too often. She hated it, honestly, and she understood why Evelyn kept pushing her to move on, but she just couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for other guys when Lawson was strutting around looking like that. His last few months with the team had been the best of both worlds. She’d had her friend back and the promise of something more in the future. When he got hurt, she lost her captain, her batterymate, and everything else Lawson was all in one night. 

Mike turned on the chandeliers over one of the two long tables that dominated the room, leaving the rest of the room dim. Ginny had been here before, but she didn’t remember it being this quiet. Every time she’d been here the room had been full of rowdy Padres. Now she could hear her heels clicking on the floor. Strange considering there were at least a hundred people on the other side of the door. 

He pulled out a chair and gestured for Ginny to sit. “So Evelyn stood you up?”

Ginny stepped out of her heels and kicked them under the table, hooked her purse on the back of the chair, and sat down. “Yeah.”

Mike leaned against the table. “Where were you going?”

Ginny wished he’d stop watching her. “Nowhere. Just staying here.”

Mike looked her up and down again. “Since when do you dress up to come here?”

Never. Jeans and a cute top, maybe strappy sandals, that was usually her limit. Ginny preferred comfort over style, to both Evelyn’s and Amelia’s dismay. “Trying something new,” she hedged.

Mike crossed his arms. “You can tell me if it was a double date or something. I’ve seen Ginny Baker on a date before, and this is looking very familiar.”

Ginny’s face heated. The last time Mike saw her dressed up for a date, she’d started the evening with Noah and ended it with Mike. “If it was a date, looks like he stood me up.” She was trying for bravado and missed the mark. She just sounded pissed.

“Hey, Baker, I didn’t mean—” Mike shook his head. “Shit. Evelyn told me you were dating. I figured he was some big important guy who had some kind of emergency. I mean, why else would he give up this?” He gestured to Ginny’s dress, still too short, still riding up no matter how often she yanked at the hem. 

“Maybe he talked to the last two guys Ev tried to fix me up with,” she said with a sigh.

“Wait, what?”

Ginny snorted. “Blind dates, Lawson. Ev thinks I need to put myself out there, but I don’t, so she does it for me. It makes her happy.” 

Mike was clearly surprised. And why wouldn’t he be? The first woman in the major leagues and she couldn’t even find her own dates. It was humiliating. The fact that she didn’t even want the dates didn’t reduce her embarrassment. 

Lawson reached over and downed the dregs of the beer in front of him. “You like these guys?”

“Let’s just say Ev struck out.” The last thing Ginny wanted was to talk to Mike about her dates.

Geoff hadn’t been awful. He’d kept reminding her how to spell his name, which was a little weird, but he was funny and taught music at the twins’ school. He didn’t follow baseball. Or any sport, actually. They’d run out of things to say to each other about halfway through dinner. 

But Geoff was an improvement over Dick, the surfer from up the coast. He was also an actor and he wouldn’t stop trying to compete with her fame and money. Ginny honestly couldn’t tell why Evelyn had thought the two of them had anything in common. 

Luckily the door opened before Ginny had to try to change the subject. 

The bartender came in carrying enough food and beer to feed an army. He helped her set everything on the table and thanked her. “Enjoy,” she said with a wink as she left and closed the doors behind her. 

Ginny eyed the feast spread before them while Mike pulled out a chair and sat beside her. She’d expected him to sit across from her. This was more awkward, but at least she could focus on the food. There were small plates of sliders: beef, pulled pork or possibly brisket, and fried chicken. A huge basket of fries. Soft hot pretzels with beer cheese on the side. Beer-battered fish tacos, and crispy buffalo cauliflower. Two flights of beers and a pint of dark beer with a creamy head. “You sure you’re not trying to get me drunk?”

Mike would usually laugh at that, but he just shook his head. “No.” He pointed. “This flight has our in-house beers. That one has the Spring Training beers. We’ll save the other glass for later. That’s still experimental.”

Just being alone with him felt experimental. She glanced at the bar tickets next to each flight, listing the contents of the four small glasses in each set. Ginny filled a plate for herself and grabbed a beer she recognized. Mike followed suit. While they ate, they talked about the food, the bar, the team, nothing earth shattering. It felt comfortable, familiar. Mike told stories about his quirky brewmaster and odd customers. Ginny told him about the trip when Livan left his phone in an airport bathroom and some kid in Jersey posted a bunch of stuff on Livan’s social before they tracked him down. Ginny’s face actually hurt from smiling. 

The plates were empty except a few sad, burned fries, and the flights of beer were mostly gone when Ginny pointed at the pint glass. “So what’s that called?”

Mike squirmed a little in his chair. “Who says it has a name?”

“Mike, I know half the time you guys name them before they’re even brewed.” Evelyn didn’t care about the brewery side of the business as long as it made money and didn’t blow up the building by accident, but she still complained about how Mike and the brewers made decisions. 

Mike flushed. “Taste it first.”

“You’re being weird.” Ginny picked it up and sniffed it. “Does it have ghost peppers in it? Cilantro?” She would never forget the taste of the Four-Alarm Firehouse Ale they’d tested before the restaurant opened. She was pretty sure she’d lost tastebuds that day.

Mike rolled his eyes, stole the glass out of her hand, and took a healthy gulp. “It’s not poison, Baker.” He passed the glass back to her. 

Ginny took a cautious sip. “It’s kind of sweet. Chocolate? Coffee? You know I’m bad at this.” When Mike had the team over to taste beers, Ginny usually frustrated them because all she could tell them was that she liked it or she didn’t. 

“Bittersweet chocolate,” he prompted. “It’s just a porter. Taste it again.”

Ginny took another sip, this time recognizing the chocolate. Sweet, a hint of bitter, smooth on her tongue and going down. “It’s nice. What’s it called?”

Mike ducked his head, bit his lip. “Baker’s Dozen.” He glanced up. “I can’t tell if you like it or you’re going to hit me.” 

Ginny set the glass down carefully. “Whose idea was that?” 

He shrugged. “Mine.” 

“Finally remembered me, huh?” Blip’s doppelbock was on the menu the day the restaurant opened, and Sonny’s sour followed shortly thereafter. She’d tried not to be jealous of that, and failed. 

Mike looked up at her, and she was pinned under that gaze.  _ Seen _ , beneath her public persona, beneath the uniform it felt like she never took off. “Never forgot you, Baker.”

She wanted to look away, wanted to scream in frustration. Months of silence, and he had the nerve to say that? She blew out a short breath, counted in her head, didn’t make it past five. “You had a funny way of showing it.” 

Mike visibly deflated. “I needed to get away from everyone for awhile, especially you.”

“Why?” It hurt, much as she tried to pretend it didn’t.

He offered a small, apologetic smile. “Because I am really good at fucking up every good thing in my life, and I didn’t want to fuck this up. Looks like I did anyway.” 

And there it was, the truth. Mike Lawson, the cockiest bastard in the National League, thought he was that easy to get over. She could kill Rachel. She could kill Evelyn too. “I didn’t say that. Unless you think you can’t top a few blind dates. I mean, if you’re interested.”

“If I’m interested?” His smile turned wicked, his gaze trailing from her upswept hair to her mouth, all her lipstick long gone, and down to the plunging neckline of her dress. “You look insanely hot in that dress. I can say that now, right?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oscar can’t fine you anymore.”

“He can’t fine me for this, either.” And Mike leaned in to kiss her. He gave her ample time to push him away or object, but Ginny didn’t want to. As infuriating as he was, she needed to know if Toronto was a fluke. 

His lips were soft and undemanding on hers, holding back as he had last time. When he tried to pull away, Ginny held him close. “Wouldn’t want you to run off again,” she teased, but there was more truth to that than she liked. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Mike met her lips again, and the tension and uncertainty she’d carried into this room began to melt away. 

It made her bold. “Could we get out of here? Talk somewhere a little less public?”

Mike drew back, smiling again. “Ginny Baker doesn’t want dessert?”

“I definitely didn’t say that,” she said slowly, remembering that their dessert menu was particularly good. She could run a few extra miles tomorrow, no problem. 

Lawson stood and offered her his hand. “A slice of chocolate cake to go?” 

Ginny nodded and took his hand. She wasn’t really sure where they were going, but even this private room felt too public now. It was the safer choice, staying here, and if they left it was likely they wouldn’t do a lot of talking tonight. But she still wanted to leave. 

She was sitting in the passenger seat of Mike’s car, a takeout box of cake on her lap, cruising up I-5 toward La Jolla when her phone rang. Evelyn.

Mike turned down the stereo and Ginny answered. “Hey, did the boys win?”

“What? Oh, yeah. How’s your date?” Evelyn seemed distracted, but she had a lot on her mind lately, between the boys and the business and Blip being away so much. 

“Not bad considering he stood me up,” Ginny told her. So he’d been too much of a chicken to even tell Evelyn he bailed. Ginny had no idea who he was, but she was glad he hadn’t bothered to come. 

“Mike wasn’t there? I thought he was tending bar tonight.” Evelyn sounded genuinely puzzled.

“Wait, you were setting me up with Lawson?” Beside her, his eyebrows went up.

“Of course! You two needed a shove in the right direction. All this nonsense, waiting around, wasting time, pining, it was exhausting,” Evelyn said with a laugh.

“I was not pining!” Ginny squawked. 

Mike started laughing, and she elbowed him in the ribs. 

“So Mike  _ is _ with you,” Evelyn said knowingly. 

“Goodnight, Ev,” she said quickly and hung up before Evelyn could start squealing into the phone.

Lawson was wearing a shit-eating grin, and Ginny couldn’t decide if she wanted to slap it off him or kiss him. 

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” she asked instead of doing either. He was driving, after all.

Mike shook his head. “So how’s our date going?”

“Not sure yet,” Ginny answered, reaching out to rest a hand on his well-muscled thigh. “Ask me in the morning.”


End file.
